


still alive (and you are too)

by Suicix



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Monster Hunters, Ambiguous Relationships, Developing Relationship, Friendship/Love, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Minor Violence, Multi, POV Multiple, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 07:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13185006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suicix/pseuds/Suicix
Summary: None of them expected any of this: not staying in Korea for this long, not life on the road, and definitely not the monsters.





	still alive (and you are too)

**Author's Note:**

> listen. the different povs in this were supposed to be a lot more equal, but they ended up suuuuper uneven instead. you'll see what i mean. nevertheless, i hope this is enjoyable.

Jackson didn’t think he’d be here for this long. A month at the most is what he thought, and then he expected to be back in Hong Kong, safe and stable and definitely not running around looking for monsters.

So, yeah – it’s not what he expected. He blames Mark, and knows that Mark blames him just as much (if not more), but at the same time, he wouldn’t change a thing. It’s hard work, but he feels like he’s doing something good, something of worth, and he’s got Mark by his side. Got someone he thinks he most probably loves, or at the very least, someone he cares for very intensely. Someone he’d stand in front of a loaded gun for, someone he’d take a running dive at to stop them from taking a bullet.

He’s got that, and then they’ve got Bambam.

It’s a recent-ish development, this. Meet a hitchhiker with no destination in mind and let him start travelling with you instead. After making sure that he’s a decent person, of course. As well as getting him into the cause, the reason why Jackson and Mark are even out here in the first place, i.e., the hunting of monsters.

(Jackson can still hear it in his head: the doubt in Bambam’s voice when they first told him what they do. _You’re kidding me,_ he’d said. _You just want to see if you can make fun of me for believing in something stupid._ And Jackson had been ready with a dozen different defences, ready to show photographs on his phone as proof, but Mark had looked back at Bambam in the rear-view mirror and asked, _If it’s so stupid, then why do we believe it?,_ and Jackson hears that in his head, too. That, and the silence that followed.)

And then they came across a trail of mysterious deaths and the rabid werewolf that had left it, and all of Bambam’s doubt seemed to be gone just as quickly as the blood had drained from his face when he first set eyes on the creature. To his credit, though, he was pretty good in the fight for someone whose legs are like chopsticks.

“And you’re pretty good for someone whose legs are so short,” Bambam retorts when Jackson tells him as much, and Mark bursts into laughter in his place behind the steering wheel. Jackson counts them lucky that there isn’t a car in front for them to crash into. He also rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Mark has no business laughing at things like that: they’re almost the same height.

As they continue to drive, the sun sets around them. Jackson finds his eyes drooping shut, finds himself leaning his head against the window, cheek squished against the glass. He’s half asleep and half aware of what’s going on around him; he can hear the rush of the road under wheels and the car radio crackling in and out because of the poor signal, and then occasionally, there’s silence. Complete darkness. No traces of noise or light, nothing to be heard or seen.

There are breaks in the silence-darkness, too. Some of it might be dreams, but some things feel more realistic than that. As the car travels over an uneven bit of road, Bambam’s voice fills the silence.

“What’s the deal with you two, anyway?”

“Hm?” Mark, warm-strong-perfect Mark, Jackson’s Mark. Just hearing one sound from him, one mere syllable, feels like some kind of relief. “Me and Jackson?”

Jackson likes the sound of that. Mark and him. Him and Mark. It’s not something that’s often expressed out loud.

“Well, duh. Who else would I mean?” Bambam’s talking again, and then there’s quiet. The kind of quiet that sometimes follows after Jackson’s said something, the kind of quiet that signifies that Mark’s thinking.

“We love each other,” Mark says eventually. There’s a certain softness to his voice and yet something defensive in it, too. It’s a combination that has warmth spreading all through Jackson’s body, even with his face pressed against the cool glass of the window. “We don’t really say it, but it’s there.”

“I thought as much. I watch you guys sometimes, you know – not like, in a creepy way or anything, I swear – and everything seems… really special. I don’t know. It makes me feel safe? Whatever. I’ll shut up now.”

“You can talk as much as you like.”

“Nah. I probably shouldn’t.” In the backseat, Bambam yawns. “I might just go to sleep. Jackson’s got the right idea there.”

“He often does.” Mark’s smiling as he says it – Jackson can hear it, even in this semi-conscious state – and he’s glancing across at Jackson as well. Jackson can feel that, too. “I’ll wake you guys up when we stop, OK?”

“OK,” Bambam says. He sounds like he’s sliding down to where Jackson is, that place between awake and dreaming, and it’s the last thing Jackson hears before he’s back in total silence again. Back in the darkness, fast asleep.

 

 

He wakes up again when the car comes to a sudden stop, before Mark can even try to get him up. They’re at a rest stop, by the look of things, which is good, because it means _food._ Bambam’s still sleeping behind them, and when Jackson looks to his left, Mark’s smiling. A rest stop _also_ means that it’ll be Jackson’s turn to drive when they get back into the car.

“Hey,” says Mark, and his smile’s so easy to return. He turns his head to nod at Bambam. “Should wake him up.”

Bambam looks smaller as he sleeps, his sharp edges smoothed out into something softer. It can’t have been all that long since he fell asleep, actually, but right now, food’s more important. Besides, Bambam can go back to sleep as soon as they’re on the road again if he wants to. Not like Jackson, who has to drive.

“We should,” Jackson says, and he leans across the gap between their seats to kiss Mark on the mouth. He keeps it too brief for Mark to try and kiss him back properly, but he hopes its importance can be felt.

Mark doesn’t say anything, but he smiles, slow and fond. It’s been a while since they last kissed, come to think of it. Since there was anything more between them than significant touches, a hand curling around Jackson’s arm or resting on his knee. (He remembers that very first time so clearly: post-hunt, so grateful that they were both alive, that they might actually be getting good at this monster-killing thing. It was impulsive, just like Jackson tends to be during a fight, and he wasn’t sure what kind of reaction he was expecting, but Mark didn’t stop him. Mark just brought up a hand to Jackson’s cheek, and let it happen. And then let it happen again and again and again.) Recently, they’ve been too preoccupied with the sudden addition of Bambam to pay much of that kind of attention to each other.

That means it’s been even longer since they fucked, and yeah, sometimes Jackson misses it – misses pushing the front passenger seat back and sinking down to his knees in front of Mark, misses Mark straddling him in the backseat and grinding down against his thighs to get off as they kiss, misses those late nights when they’d find a secluded spot to park and Mark would fuck him on or against the hood of the car – but it’s not quite appropriate when there’s someone else sharing your space, even if Jackson considers himself a bit of an exhibitionist.

Maybe it’s a good thing, putting some distance between them. They’ve never wanted to quantify what they have: Mark’s _we love each other_ is probably as close as they’ve ever got. Jackson’s always been kind of terrified of what might happen to them if they ever tried. If a name’s been put to something – if it’s had rules applied to it about what it is and what it can be – then it’s more likely to fall apart.

He wonders, as they wake Bambam up and get out of the car, if any of this nameless-endless whatever-they-have will ever extend to him as well. It was through the monsters that the two of them became what they are now. Maybe, now that Bambam’s in on that too, that’s what will happen. There’s no way to tell. Not now, not yet. Jackson lives in the moment, not in the what-ifs and maybes of the future that might not actually come. If it’ll be, then – well. It’ll be.

 

 

It takes weeks for the thought to cross Jackson’s mind again.

They’re in the throes of a hunt, and so far, he thinks it’s going pretty well. Somehow, he’s managed to obtain a long, sword-like weapon from somewhere within this abandoned building, and hey, he used to fence. He can work with this. The creature they’re after – nobody knows what it is, just that they’ve never heard of anything like it – is lurking around somewhere deeper inside. It’s just a matter of figuring out where. A matter of keeping their collective guard up and listening out for anything out of the ordinary.

They creep through. Jackson’s clutching so hard at the almost-sword in his hand that it’s hurting. Mark sometimes scolds him for things like that – tells him he should be more relaxed and less forceful with it – but that’s easy for him to say when to him, fear is a rush more than anything else. Jackson scares more easily, even if he’s better about it than he once was.

Right now, he tries to swallow down the fear. They’re pretty sure there’s another door between them and the monster, just one more, and Jackson pushes it open carefully. He’s leading the way, Bambam immediately behind him and Mark bringing up the rear. Whatever’s in this room, they’re at least heading in the right direction: there’s a trail of… _something_ on the floor, and the scent of something rotting is stronger than it was before. This is it. This _should_ be it.

It is. Jackson doesn’t know what else he expected from the description they’d been given, but it’s – hideous. No limbs, and grey leathery skin, almost like an elephant, and big, big eyes that are dark like inkwells and feel like they can see every inch of Jackson’s soul. Even seeing it, he can’t put a name to it. He guesses Mark can’t either, otherwise he’d say something. It’s too late to stay silent: if it wasn’t, the creature would have its back to them. They wouldn’t be able to see those deep, dark, absolutely terrifying eyes. What Jackson _thinks_ are eyes, anyway.

It surges forward – _slides_ forward, more like – and so they do as well, meeting it in the middle. They’re actually in the room now – it smells like someone died in here, and it’s almost as dark as the hallway was, the only light coming through one grimy window – and the only thing to do, Jackson thinks, is to strike. They didn’t come here with a real plan. Couldn’t, when they didn’t know what they were dealing with.

He goes for it, stabbing at the creature with a technique he used to use back when he thought he’d end up as a fencer, fighting only as a sport, and certainly not fighting monsters. It’s different, because there’s no other sword to clang against it, only that strange skin. Up close, it’s slimier than it first seemed: Jackson’s weapon doesn’t make the noise he thought it would; instead it’s something much wetter and weirder than anything he might have expected.

When he pulls it out again, a viscous black liquid’s dripping down the length of the sword, and the creature wails, _shrieks,_ so piercing that it’s unbearable. It spins wildly and the three of them step backwards, out of its way. The substance is so similar to whatever makes up its eyes, could possibly serve as its blood. Jackson doesn’t know. He looks to Mark but he seems just as bewildered, and Bambam looks like he might throw up just looking at it leak out. The only thing to do is try, just like always.

So try they do. They’ve got speed on their side and they can surround it easily, but it uses its cry to surprise them, and the black liquid doesn’t stop gushing. If that means it’s bleeding out, then _good,_ but if it turns out to be toxic? They might as well die here, even if they get rid of the monster first.

It seems just about done for (and Jackson’s so relieved, so grateful, though he won’t-can’t-shouldn’t relax just yet) when it suddenly skids across the floor towards Bambam in one last effort to stay alive. In the next split second, Jackson thinks about that time in the car when Bambam said he felt safe with them, and about how it’s up to them to make sure that he’ll keep feeling the same way, and–

He runs at Bambam, shielding him, getting him out of the way as Mark delivers the final blow. Keeping him safe.

 

 

Something’s shifted. Mark can feel it.

Since they took down that – god, what _was_ it? Mark still doesn’t know – that monster about a week ago, it’s like there’s been a change in the atmosphere. Something between the three of them, not just him and Jackson, but Bambam, too. They don’t mention it. Don’t try to determine what it is or means. Still, Mark can feel it, and he can tell that the others do as well, and that’s enough.

Things just carry on as normal. They drive (they drive and drive and drive), and at the end of the day, Mark counts through the money they’ve been able to set aside recently, announcing that if they find somewhere today, tonight might just be a hotel night.

They don’t always get to stay in a hotel – can’t always find one, don’t always have the money – but tonight, there’s the option. The room’s a double, one bed between the three of them. Mark ignores the hotelier’s raised eyebrows when they ask for it and takes the key. He doesn’t care what people might think. He can’t afford to when these are the people he’s keeping safe from the supernatural, whether they know it’s out there or not.

It’s a decent enough room, but compared with sleeping in the car, any real bed is luxurious. An actual shower is definitely an improvement. He can stand under the rush of water with his head tilted back and eyes shut, can let the heat wash all the tension out of his limbs. It’s exactly what he needs.

He returns from the bathroom to find Jackson and Bambam glued to the TV. A documentary about aliens is playing on the screen, and god, he’s known for ages how Jackson feels about life in space and the possibility of it existing, but he wouldn’t have been able to know that Bambam potentially feels the same way.

“I really believe they exist, you know?” Jackson’s saying, and Bambam’s nodding emphatically, agreeing.

“So you didn’t think the monsters we hunt could be real until you met us, but you believe in aliens?” Mark asks, drying off his hair with a towel. They both look up at him.

“Anything seems like it could be possible now,” Bambam tells him. “I didn’t know about everything that exists here. So why can’t something exist out in space?”

“Aliens, though? I don’t know.”

“Come on, Mark,” says Jackson. “You’ve usually got a sense of adventure. Where’s that here?”

Mark shrugs and joins them on the bed. He doesn’t answer, just watches the rest of the programme with them and by the end of it? He’s willing to indulge them in their extra-terrestrial opinions.

Once the others have each showered and come back, Mark finds himself in the middle, Jackson on one side and Bambam on the other. Jackson leans into him first, just as easy as ever, his head on Mark’s shoulder, and Mark wraps an arm around him almost automatically.

Bambam’s more hesitant. He’s watching them, trying very hard to pretend that he isn’t, glancing across and trying not to stare. Probably trying to chase away how much he wants to press up against Mark’s other side.

Mark holds his arm out.

“Come on,” he says, coaxing, gentle, and after a moment, Bambam does. His head’s on Mark’s chest and Mark’s arm is around him, and Jackson reaches over to lay a hand on top of Bambam’s. Now that it’s quiet, Mark can hear it when Bambam sighs, comfortable and content.

Good. That’s exactly how he should feel here, how Mark and Jackson want him to feel here. When they’re ready to sleep, the three of them under the covers, Bambam’s even closer still. Even more comfortable. And, knowing how Bambam feels, so is Mark.

 

 

Bambam still can’t believe that this is his life now. Can’t believe that he’s uncovered a world of monsters and magic, this world that Mark and Jackson are already so familiar with.

Even more than that, though, he can’t believe that it isn’t the only world they’ve introduced him to. There’s _their_ world, too: the two of them, their… whatever it is. Bambam thinks it’s love. That’s what Mark told him, anyway. Bambam doesn’t fit into it seamlessly, not yet, but he can feel himself slotting in more and more comfortably by the day as they travel around the country, scoping out creatures causing trouble and people willing to pay to have them taken out. Of course, he’s always in the back or the passenger seat because he still can’t drive (he passed the written test, though, _finally_ – even if it took him three tries), but he still likes to think he’s useful here. Mark and Jackson tell him he is, will admit that he speaks better Korean than both of them (“How did that happen?” Jackson asks him once. “How did that happen when we’ve been here longer than you?”), and that’s something.

Every day is something, Bambam thinks. He learns something new with every case they take on, and he can’t even think of where he’d be if he wasn’t here, if the car that’s now the closest thing to a home he has hadn’t stopped for him when he took a chance and held out a hand to see if it would. He doesn’t even know where he thought he was going before then, doesn’t know what he might have been searching for, but now, he has a purpose and people who share it. People who care about him, who have let him into their life. People who slept on either side of him in the back of a car last night and did the same in a hotel bed the night before that, all of them curled together.

It was unexpected, all of it – Bambam could make a list. He never expected to believe in monsters, let alone fight them with a blade in his hand and blood on his cheek. He never expected to let his guard down to strangers, instead thinking that he’d get out of their car and say goodbye when they made it to the next big city. Most of all, he never expected to actually be a part of what he found in that car – what he secretly watched and dreamt about and longed for – but he _is._ He’s got Mark and Jackson, got a share of their fierce nods and fond smiles, their warm hands and sometimes-quiet sometimes-loud affection. Got more from them than he could have ever imagined.

**Author's Note:**

> hey remember that vlive where jackson and bambam talked about aliens? if you didn't, i hope you remember it now because i think about it CONSTANTLY and just HAD to reference it in a fic. thanks so much for reading, everyone - you can also find me on tumblr @ vibetechs, and on twitter @gotsevenses !!


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